


The Case of the Missing Son

by FleetSparrow



Series: Dick Grayson, Private Detective [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Detective Noir, F/M, M/M, POV First Person, Past Relationship(s), Private Investigators, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: Dick Grayson is a P.I. working in Gotham after a successful clean up of the 'Haven.  Unfortunately, Gotham's a bit more corrupt.  Still, when Bruce Wayne gives him a case, Dick is determined to solve it, not just for the money, but for Bruce's affections, too.  But this case may turn out bigger than he had ever anticipated.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne
Series: Dick Grayson, Private Detective [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541968
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50
Collections: DCU Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

Gotham’s a helluva town and not in a good way. It’s dark and dirty and full of the kinds of things most cities try to keep buried underground. Not in Gotham. In Gotham they wear sin like a badge, mostly in the shiny ones they hand out to the so-called “law enforcement.” It’s somebody’s law they’re enforcing alright, but it’s not the “Truth, Justice, and the American Way” one. Gotham’s wicked and rotted to the core.

I used to think that was Blüdhaven, Gotham’s wicked little stepsister. I figured if I could fix the ‘Haven, I could do something about Gotham. You know, take on the worst of the worst and the rest’ll be a cakewalk. Boy, was I living some kind of pipe dream. Blüdhaven was corrupt, sure, straight to the heart, but it wasn't solid. Only a few guys ran the 'Haven and if you could get inside their lines, you could knock them down hard. I'm no saint, but I did a damn good job in that town.

I finally came back to Gotham last September, just as what few trees she had were starting to give up like the rest of the city. Gotham's bleak as hell in winter and I sure found out the hard way. An apartment with no heat and an office with no clients. What a way to clean up the streets.

Oh, sure, I'd get a couple of clients now and then, a few spouses wanting me to find their cheating partners, a couple missing persons who wanted to stay missing to the folks looking for them, but that's just enough to pay the bills and Barbara. Sometimes.

Thank god for Barbara. She's the only thing that keeps me sane some days. She doesn't need to work for me; she's smart as a whip and clever enough to be in politics. And, hell, she's the police commissioner's daughter. She certainly doesn't need to be stuck with a broke P.I. in a drafty downtown Gotham office.

We were just getting into Fall when I got the case that nearly killed me. The weather was just starting to turn cold again, leaves dropping like mob contacts before a trial, and I was in my office celebrating one year of survival in Gotham. It's a helluva milestone in this town, let alone this business.

I pour myself a glass of scotch and toast the stacks of papers I keep around the office to convince myself I'm busy. "To another year of freezing my ass off and barely scraping by. If there's anyone up there listening, I wouldn't turn down a pretty, rich client walking in right now." The scotch burns its way down my throat as if to mock me for my wish.

Hey, a guy can hope.

I’m just pouring myself another shot when my door opens and Barbara comes walking in. "Starting early today, aren't we, Boy Wonder?"

"Don't call me that," I say, shooting her a tired glare. I got that nickname in the 'Haven after my successes with cleaning up the police there. Not so wonderful anymore, though.

"Well, why don't you hold off on that for a minute and straighten yourself up before you scare him away."

"Scare who away?"

Barbara grins. "The rich man outside who said you came recommended."

"Nobody recommends me," I say, trying to be flippant, but inside I’m ecstatic. It has been a damn long time since I'd had a client that Babs would call rich. I'd look for his damn dog if it meant a fat paycheck. But first....

"Is he handsome?"

She purses her lips. "Yeah, I'd say mostly. If you like the idle rich."

"I like the idle rich's money. Give me ten seconds and send him in."

Barbara snorts. "Sure thing, *Mr. Grayson*."

I give her a playful swat as she leaves, missing her by a mile, but that’s fine. God, a rich client. Maybe there are a few wishes in Gotham that still come true.

I have just enough time to put away the bottle and flatten my hair when the door opens again.

"Mr. Grayson will see you now."

"Thank you, Miss Jordan."

"*Gordon*."

I can’t see him from my desk-- it sounds like he was getting up from the chairs outside-- but I can feel his too-bright smile from here. Hmm. My interest is slowly dropping, even with the promise of money.

But then he walks in and oh, no. Oh no, no, no.

He's handsome as sin.

It's not until his hand is reaching over my desk that I tear my eyes away from his too beautiful smile. That's not fair.

"Bruce Wayne," he says, like I wouldn't recognize Gotham's most famous citizen from a mile away. "Happy to meet you, Mr. Grayson."

I somehow manage to speak around the lump in my throat enough to reply like a human. I've gotta get myself together.

"What can I do for you?" I ask, offering him a seat as I return to mine.

He pulls the chair center to the desk, and I swear that suddenly he's the one in charge here. "I've heard very good things about you, Mr. Grayson. You come highly recommended from an old friend."

"I very much doubt we have friends in common, Mr. Wayne. May I ask who referred you?"

His smile gains a strange mystery about it, and I'm uncomfortable with how much it turns me on. "I was asked to be discreet, you understand."

"Not entirely," I snap, shuffling some papers around my desk to look collected. I need to remind him whose office this is, even if I'm having trouble remembering it myself.

He just continues that smile and shrugs lightly. "I'm sorry. That was the condition."

That does give me a bit of a clue, but not enough to reach any conclusions. Not yet. I'll have to think on that.

"So, tell me, since I don't know who recommended me, what can I do for you?"

The smile disappears instantly, replaced by a nervous pinching of his lips. This isn't Gotham's most powerful businessman in front of me, or her most eligible playboy. This is a man with a problem that's brought him to his patience's end.

Good god, is that hot.

“I received these letters a while ago. They’re from my ex-wife, Talia. We had a rocky relationship that didn’t end well, but that’s not the point. She says we have a son.”

I looked up from reading the same thing. “You didn’t know?”

“No. I married Talia in my early twenties. We broke up after a few years, but she’s never told me she had a baby.”

“Do you think she could be lying?”

“I don’t know. It sounds genuine.”

Bruce Wayne looks like the kind of man who never has a problem, but he does now. He looks upset and tired and god, if I don’t want to smooth his brow with a kiss.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to find him,” Bruce says, staring at me like I’m an idiot. “I want to know if he’s mine. Then, I want you to bring me to him.”

I look over the letters to try and seem busy. “That’s a tall order,” I say. “It might take a while, and my fee—”

“Doesn’t matter. Money is no object.”

I like hearing those words. I certainly don’t hear them enough.

"You don't need this on a strict timeline, do you?" I ask. Not that I doubt my ability, but some people have strange ideas about how fast I work.

"As soon as possible is preferred," he said, frowning.

“Of course. Just don’t expect it done tomorrow.”

Bruce nods. “You need time to work on it. I understand that.”

He stands and oh god, I almost forgot how huge he is. I stand half a second after him, trying to remember myself.

“Thank you,” he says, extending a hand.

“Thank me when I’ve found your son,” I say. I shake his hand. His grip is solid, but not hand-crushing. This is a man who doesn’t need to compensate for anything.

He holds my hand a fraction too long, his eyes gazing into mine, then releases me. I can already feel the heat rising in my cheeks, despite the chill of fall seeping in the windows.

“Is this the way…?” he asks, as if he’s forgotten which door he came in already. I’m not fooled, though, even though I feel foolish. I step around my desk and practically escort him out of my office.

“Thank you once again, Miss…Gordon,” he says to Barbara, making a show of reading her nameplate.

Barbara shoots him an even look. “Of course, Mr. Wayne.”

He gathers up his coat and hat and nods goodbye to us, then disappears out into the night.

“So,” Barbara asks as soon as he’s out of earshot and we’re both pretty sure he’s not listening at the door. “I take it you’re helping him.”

“I’ve got to find his missing son,” I say. “That can’t be too hard, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

I never look like I belong here.

My coat’s nice, but it’s seen better days. My suit’s a little threadbare, if you could see it under my layers. But here, they look at me like they can.

I’m in the lobby of Selina Kyle’s swank apartment building, trying to look less like a private eye and more like a gentleman going to see his girl. It doesn’t work—it never does. I still look like a P.I.

The elevator operator gives me a dark look—way too judgemental for a boy in a uniform—but takes me up to Selina’s floor without comment. She practically owns the entire floor. I asked her once how she could afford it. She laughed and told me I was rude. I don’t come from wealth, and neither did she, but it’s not something I’m allowed to talk about.

I don’t have to wait long for her to open the door, just long enough to make me feel like I was imposing.

“I could have been entertaining,” she says, letting me in. “Then what would you have done?”

“Waited outside, I guess,” I say, stooping down to pet one of her many cats. “But you don’t usually entertain this early.”

“You’re lucky I’m even awake.” She locks the door behind us and strides back to her seat on a vintage fainting couch. She looks like a queen and I’m merely her humble subject.

“To what do I owe this visit?” she asks once I’m seated. Hecate, her oldest cat, jumps up on me for warmth, and because I just stole her favorite chair.

“What do you know about Bruce Wayne?”

She arches an elegant eyebrow. “Is this a personal question?”

“Business.”

She leans on the top of the couch, looking long and glamorous. “He’s single, divorced, the richest man in Gotham—”

“Come on, Selina. I could’ve gotten that from a tabloid. What do you *know* about him?”

She smiles, one corner of her mouth curling up. “He likes keeping secrets. Despite his amorous reputation, he doesn’t kiss and tell. He’s not a closet case, just old fashioned. He spends most of his nights alone, in that big mansion of his.”

“What about his ex-wife, Talia?”

Selina frowns. “She’s a different story. I’ve met her a few times. She’s still fiercely devoted to him, even though the divorce was about a decade ago. She’s a very jealous woman, whether she has cause to be or not.”

“Have you ever heard of her having a kid?”

She sits up. “Ah. Now that I haven’t heard about. If Bruce knew, I don’t think they would have got divorced.”

I nod, stroking Hecate. “Do you think she would use a child to get back together with Bruce?”

“I’m not sure. She might, though that’d be an awfully long con.” She smiles at me. “Since when did you start calling him Bruce?”

I feel the flush creep up my cheeks before I can stop it. “Since now, I guess. He came into my office for help.”

“Finding this son of his?”

“Yeah. You were my first stop.”

“I’m flattered.”

She rises and I realize the interview is over. Settling the cat back down on the chair, I follow Selina to the door.

“I’ll see if I can’t make some discreet inquiries,” she says. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

She gives me a kiss goodbye, and it’s as she’s shutting the door that I realize what she said. Shoving my foot in the door, I turn back to her.

“How did you know it was a boy?”

“What?”

“You said ‘this son of his’. How did you know?”

“Women’s intuition,” she says, pushing my foot out of the door and shutting it firmly.

I wait till I hear the lock click and sigh. She’s not telling me everything. Still, it wasn’t a wasted visit. I check my watch and head back to my office. Now’s the time to start doing some research into the family and I had a hunch I wasn’t going to like what I’d find.


	3. Chapter 3

I pick up some sandwiches for me and Barbara. We’re gonna be doing some background research, and we’re gonna need all the stimulus we can get. I enter my office just in time to see Barbara getting off the phone.

“Who was that?” I ask

“Dad.”

Her dad’s Commissioner of the Gotham City PD. Like herding a flock of cats, Jim Gordon is about the only honest cop in Gotham working in a crew of corruption. I like him a lot. Unfortunately, he’s not so crazy about me, probably because he knows Barbara deserves better than being a secretary to me. She knows it, too, but she still sticks around. As soon as money comes in, I’m thinking about making her a partner. Grayson and Gordon. It’s a good name.

“Any updates?”

“He said he’d get back to me on the al Ghuls,” Barbara says. She grabs one of the sandwiches and unwraps it. “Did you get any information? You were gone an awfully long time.”

“I went to see Selina,” I say, sitting on her desk. Barbara gives me a shove that doesn’t quite dislodge me, and sits behind her desk.

“I suppose that was fruitful.” She doesn’t really like Selina.

“I just went asking her for info,” I say, through a mouthful of sandwich. “She’s been useful in other cases.”

“You know, she’s one of the reasons Dad doesn’t trust you,” she said.

“She’s not that bad.”

“She’s a thief!”

“But not a killer,” I snap. “What about Harvey Dent?”

Barbara glares at me. “That’s a low blow. Nobody knew about Dent.”

“My point stands.”

An uncomfortable silence descends on us. I’m mad for bringing anything up, but Selina’s a sore point for us. For a while, she was one of the few people in Gotham I could even trust, when she wasn’t trying to steal my wallet to prove a point. I wouldn’t trust her with my money, but I’d almost trust her with my life.

“Anyway,” I say, once I finish eating. “I think she knows more than she told me.” I relate to Barbara what Selina said, and Barbara agrees.

“She’s probably going to use more of what you told her for her own advantage.”

I shrug. “Maybe. I didn’t let on much.”

The phone rings, saving us from another fight. Barbara answers it.

“Hi, Daddy.”

That’s my cue to make myself scarce. I take both the sandwich wrappers and head to my office, tossing them on my way in. The call takes about twenty minutes, which I spend puttering around my office looking for something to do that seems productive. I just sit down to make my notes when Barbara walks in.

“Alright, I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Give me the good news.”

“I’ve got good info on Talia and her father.”

“Why do I care about her father?”

“Because he’s Ra’s al Ghul.”

Shit. I knew Talia’s name should’ve rung a bell, and now I know why. Ra’s al Ghul, the Demon’s Head. An eco-terrorist who’s plotted taking over the world more times than Superman saves kittens from trees.

“Apparently, he was part of the divorce,” Barbara continues. “According to Vicki Vale, Ra’s and Bruce didn’t get along. It came down to Talia to choose between them, and she choose daddy.”

“Great. So we’ve got grandpa involved in this, too.”

Barbara leans on my desk. “Dick. I think you should drop this case.”

“What? Why?”

“Let someone else handle it. The al Ghuls are tough customers. According to Dad, they run some kind of killer camp for would-be assassins. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

“I want to get involved with Bruce.”

“Dick.” She gives me a level stare. “I’m saying this as your friend. I don’t care how much money Wayne’s offering you. This thing’s going to cost you, and it might cost you too much.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I know. But I gave my word as a professional.”

“Is this really professional integrity, or are you that enamored of Bruce Wayne?”

“I don’t know. Both? I need that money, Barbara. Without it, we’re sunk.”

“There’s always the PD.”

I bark out a laugh. “Oh yeah, the Boy Wonder of Blüdhaven in the Gotham police. Thanks, but at least if I get shot here, I know it’s not one of my so-called fellow officers.”

She sighs and straightens up. “If you’re absolutely sure, I can’t stop you. But don’t be surprised if things get worse before they get better.”

“I’m used to that,” I say. Sadly, it’s true. I jot down some notes, trying to keep track of everything I’ve learned so far.

“Things aren’t quite adding up,” I say. “I’ve gotta meet with Bruce again. Maybe he can tell me some more about Talia. What she’s like, why she might be doing this.”

“Are you sure that’s not just an excuse to see him again?”

I look up at her. “Barbara Gordon, you have a suspicious and jealous mind.”

“I know you, Dick Grayson.” Her expression softens. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be alright. What’s the worst that could happen there?”

“Don’t ask that. You never know what might show up.”


	4. Chapter 4

I take a cab out to Wayne Manor. I’ve never actually been out to Bristol. It’s all rich mansions and richer people, no place for a five dollar an hour private detective. The sight of the house is amazing, the sheer size of it awe inspiring. The cabby parks at the gate.

“This is where I stop, pal.”

That’s fine. The drive can’t be that long. I pay the fare and get out. There’s a person sized doorway in one side of the gate, and I try that first. It’s open. Well, it opens with a little resistance, as if nobody’s used it for a while. I slip in and shut it before I notice the cab’s still there. That’s odd. He pulls away as I watch him. Maybe he just wanted to make sure I got inside safely. I convince myself that’s all, and head up the drive.

The walk takes damn near forever. Rich people own way too much land. I pause at the door to collect myself, then ring the doorbell on the side of the giant doors. There’s two gold-plated knockers, too, but I don’t feel like lifting them. If the doorbell doesn’t reach them, the knockers won’t do much better.

I’m left waiting only a minute before one of the grand doors opens. An older man in a butler's uniform answers the door. We stare at each other for a moment before I realize he’s waiting for me to introduce myself.

“Dick Grayson, Private Eye,” I say, handing him my card. “I’m working for Mr. Wayne.”

The butler takes it, looks it over, then steps back to let me in. I wipe my feet on the mat and enter.

If the house looked enormous from the outside, the inside looks even bigger. The ceilings are the highest I’ve ever seen, with chandeliers that must hang about ten feet down if they hang an inch. A giant staircase leads to the upstairs, where it branches off into two wings. The butler doesn’t seem to mind that I’m taking in the whole place. Mine is probably the reaction most people have on walking in here. It looks more like a Carnegie museum than a house.

“Master Bruce is in his study,” the butler says behind me. I turn to face him; I’d nearly forgotten he was there. “This way.”

He leads me up the stairs. Every door in the place is shut, so I can’t tell what’s what, but I get the sense that most of the rooms are empty. Something Selina says comes back to me. “He spends most of his nights alone, in that big mansion of his.” That strikes me as very sad, suddenly.

The butler holds up a gloved hand to tell me to wait, then knocks three times on the door. After an affirmative answer from Wayne, he enters, swinging the door almost all the way closed behind him, blocking me from looking inside. I can’t quite make out their voices, but that doesn’t matter, because about two seconds later, he’s back outside and nodding to me.

“You may go in now.”

“Thank you.” I have this crazy urge to bow like I’m being introduced to the President or something, but I fight it.

Bruce looks about how he did in my office, though the smile he puts on hides it well. He’s stressed and it shows in the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he says. “Have you any news?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Wayne,” I say. “I actually came here to ask you for some more information.”

His smile falters. “What kind of information?”

“About your ex-wife. And her father.”

He sighs and sits back down. “Coffee, Alfred. For both of us.” I’m sure he doesn’t need to add that part, because I’m guessing Alfred would’ve brought two cups anyway. Alfred leaves us alone, shutting the door as he goes. Bruce gestures for me to sit down across from him, so I do.

“What do you want to know?” he asks.

“Some background info. How did you two meet? When was the divorce? How was the divorce?”

Bruce’s face grows stony. He stares at some point to my left and I fight the urge to look over my shoulder. I know he’s not looking at anything in particular. It’s the middle-distance stare that a lot of my clients get when they’re trying to figure out how not to lie too much to me.

“We met at an environmental charity function,” he says. “I was immediately taken with her. Talia’s brilliant, beautiful. We met up several times afterward and eventually got married. Our first year of marriage was wonderful. But as time went on, I found I couldn’t agree with the extremes her father wanted to go to in regards to the environment. Talia would always take his side. We hadn’t even been married for two years when we got the divorce.”

“And how was that?”

“Amicable,” he says. “For the most part. It hurt that she couldn’t choose me, but I let it go. She had often said her father was all she had.”

“And how long—”

Alfred returns just then, so I clam up. I’m always nervous around servants. I’m not used to them being everywhere at once. Bruce probably doesn’t even notice him anymore, but I can’t help but be aware of people listening in on my conversations. Coffee gets served and Alfred leaves once again.

I wait until Bruce has taken a long drink of coffee—he takes it black, which somehow both does and doesn’t surprise me—before I spring my question on him again.

“How long have you been divorced?”

“About ten years.”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead at that. “I didn’t realize you were that young.”

He laughs. “Thanks for not saying I’m that old.”

“That’s not what I—” I stop, and better for it. He knows what I meant. He’s looking at me with a small smile on his face and I feel my own face go red. I take a sip of coffee so I can have the heat to blame it on.

“What about her father?” I ask. “Could he be encouraging her in this?”

“He could be, though I don’t know why.” Bruce frowns and, goddamn, that’s hot. “Ra’s is a strange man. He’s somewhat of a historian, but he talks about things as if he had been there.”

“Is that what he does for a living?” I interrupt.

“No. I’ve never been sure exactly what Ra’s does. He has followers and a rather large charity project of his own, but as for his personal business, I’ve never found out.”

He’s doing something else right now that makes me think he’s lying. Instead of staring off into the distance, he’s meeting my gaze with no trouble. That could just be because he’s a businessman and that’s what they do, but somehow I don’t believe it. He knows more about Ra’s than he’s letting on.

“What about this…so-called assassins league he runs? Any truth to those rumors?”

Bruce lets out a snort and looks me dead in the eyes. “I can guarantee you those are just rumors.”

He’s lying for sure. And I’m getting sick of being lied to.

I set down my coffee and stand up. “Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Wayne. I—”

“Bruce.”

“What?”

He smiles. “Call me Bruce.”

That smile is enough to melt my misgivings like a bad candle.

“Alright, Bruce.”

He stands, towering over me. I’m not that small a guy, but he’s huge. “Mr. Grayson, I—”

“Dick, please.”

He nods. “Dick. I wanted to thank you for all you’re doing. I know you’re just trying to help.”

“That’s what you’re paying me for.”

He places a hand on my shoulder, and the heat coming off of him is sending my thoughts into distinctly unprofessional territory.

“I trust you to get this done for me,” he says. All I can do is look up into his eyes. He’s not looking at me with the same intensity as earlier. He’s sincere, and sincerely charming.

“I’ll do everything I can,” I promise.

His hand cups my face and before I can get my brain to form a coherent thought, he’s kissing me. My eyes shut and I kiss him back. I haven’t been kissed like this in a long while. His arm curls around my back, pulling me closer. I wrap my arms around his neck. We’re pressed up against each other like a couple of very cozy sardines and I can feel the heat of him in my groin. He moans into my mouth and I find myself responding. He grabs me and I’m not sure where I’m gonna end up. Against the wall? On the desk? I don’t really care, so long as he doesn’t stop.

Three sharp knocks sound on the door and Bruce pulls away suddenly like I burned him. I’m still staggering for my balance when Alfred returns.

“Sir. I don’t mean to intrude, but there’s been another letter.”

Bruce’s face is dark, from lust or anger I’m not sure, and he snatches the letter off the silver tray with force. I’m breathing through my nose trying to get control over my body again when the letter gets shoved under my nose. I grab Bruce’s shaking hand and pull him back a few inches, skimming quickly.

“She says she’ll find you when she’s ready, then,” I say, taking in the most salient points of the letter. “That could bode well.”

“If he’s my son, I want him found now. I’m tired of waiting for her.”

There’s more than a little animosity there, which makes me wonder just how amicable this divorce really was. Maybe he’s just worried about being an absent parent. Or maybe he’s frustrated our little make out session was ended so abruptly. Or maybe both.

“I have a feeling he’s yours, or she wouldn’t be putting you in this position,” I say. “From what I’ve gathered, she can be…jealous?” I change it into a question to avoid any potential upset, but Bruce nods, defeated.

“She can be. And you’re probably right. There’s little for her to gain pretending he’s mine if he isn’t.”

I pat his arm and he seems to calm down a little more. “I’ll do my best to find him before she comes back, OK?”

“Thank you.”

If Alfred thinks anything about our more intimate body language, he doesn’t remark on it. “I’ll call you a cab, sir?” he asks me. I nod in thanks and he leaves again.

“Bruce,” I say. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

“No.”

I exhale a little sharper than I intend, but that’s what I’m stuck with for now, I guess.

“Listen, if anything else comes up, call me.” I head to the desk and write my home phone number on the back of one of my cards. “If I’m not at the office, that’s where I’ll be.”

He nods, but makes no move to pick it up. I leave it on the desk.

“We’ll find him.”

“Thank you, Dick.”

I really want to go back to kissing him, but I sense that moment has passed. It was nice while it lasted. I give his arm a squeeze and leave him in the dark study.

Alfred is down at the door, waiting for me. “Take care of him, yeah?” I say, mostly for something to say.

Alfred nods and there’s something in his eyes that makes me think he’s been taking care of Bruce for years. I head outside, relieved when I see the cab at the gate. That big empty house starts to get to you.

“Where to, mac?” asks the driver, with an odd Jersey accent, one I can’t quite place as Gotham. I give him my address and climb in. He starts up once I’m inside and drives into the Bristol woods. I’m thinking about the most recent letter, and Bruce in general, before I notice that the woods are getting heavier, not lighter.

“Hey, buster? I think we’re going the wrong way,” I say. He doesn’t respond.

I knock on the glass between us and the driver makes a sharp turn, sending me into the side door. I’m lost in the woods with a cabby who seems to be deliberately taking me somewhere I don’t wanna go. I slide the glass open and I’m just about to grab onto him and make him turn the car around when we stop suddenly. I slam into the glass and fall back into the seat. My head hurts, and not just from the unfortunate meeting with the partition.

“Your ride’s here,” the cabby says.

“I thought that was you,” I say, rubbing my forehead. He jerks his thumb to the right where a long black limousine is parked. “That’s my ride?”

“Just get in the car, mac,” he says, turning. He’s got a gun on me.

I raise my hands and move towards the door. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

I get out of the cab and the cabby follows me, guarding me with that piece of his. The driver gets out of the limo and opens the back door for me. It looks empty. Looking between the two men, and getting nothing in response, I climb into the limo. There’s lights on inside, but everything is made in black, making it a little hard to see exactly where I am.

“Dick Grayson,” a voice says. I look towards the front. A rather striking woman is sitting there on the backwards facing seat. “My name is Talia al Ghul. We have much to discuss.”


	5. Chapter 5

The limo stays parked for the majority of our talk. I don’t know whether that bodes well or not.

“Ms. al Ghul,” I say. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m sure you have. Perhaps some of it is true.”

She’s a cool customer, I give her that. Maybe too cool. She knows she holds all the cards right now. But I plan to keep mine close to my chest.

“Let’s talk business, Talia,” I say, getting familiar. “Are you sure this is Bruce’s kid?”

Her eyes widen in insult. “How dare you! Of course he’s my husband’s son.”

“Your ex-husband.”

She shrugs. “Only a formality.”

“One helluva formality,” I say. She doesn’t flinch at my language. “So, why have you waited this long to bring him out.”

“Because now is the time he needs his father,” she says evenly. “A boy cannot be fatherless forever.”

That makes me think of my own dad. I try not to. “What’s the plan? Just gonna dump him on Bruce and flounce out of the picture.”

She laughs, melodic and kind of sweet. “Hardly. With our son, Bruce and I will rejoin our union.”

“I wouldn’t bet money on that, lady.”

She arched an elegant eyebrow. “Oh? And you know my beloved so well, do you?”

“I’m a good judge of character.”

“Are you?”

The limo doors open and the cabby and some other beefy guy climbs in on either side of me.

“And what does this tell you?”

“You’re shrewd. And cunning,” I say. “And my guess is that you’re planning on having your goons here beat me up.”

She smiles and nods. I dive forward just as a fist comes towards my face, missing the back of my head by inches. If I can reach Talia, I can use her as a human shield. Reaching her is the hard part. One of them grabs the back of my jacket and hauls me backwards. His buddy throws a punch into my ribs and damn if it doesn’t hurt.

I realize, belatedly, that the car is moving. I can’t do anything about that. I’m too busy trying to avoid getting my spleen ruptured from the two apes in the limo. Every time I head towards Talia, I’m yanked back into another round of fists and elbows. The limo’s too small to move in. I like space when I fight and I’ve got none of it. We hit a bump and I hit the ceiling, which, although my head doesn’t feel any better for it, gives me an opportunity to strike back at one of my attackers. It’s enough to hurt him, but not nearly enough to knock him out.

We stop suddenly and one of the goons grabs me, holding up my swollen face to Talia.

“Stay out of this, Dick Grayson,” she says. “For your own good.”

“I can’t.”

She shrugs. “Then I’m sorry for you.”

One of them hits me right in the gut, knocking the breath out of me. The door opens and I’m unceremoniously dumped outside on the pavement. The door shuts and the limo speeds away into the Gotham night.

Panting, beat ragged, my vision already going as one eye swells shut, I try and figure out where I’ve been left. I’m only about a street or so over from Barbara’s brownstone. If I can just make it there, I’ll be OK. Using a light pole to get myself standing, I stagger my way down the street. Nobody even remarks at me. Gotham’s too used to seeing beaten and broken guys wandering their way back from some beating or another.

The steps look nearly impossible to climb, but I manage them, leaning into the buzzer once I reach it. The door opens and I stumble in. Thankfully, Barbara lives on the bottom floor so I don’t have to brave an entire staircase. I fall into her bell until she yells at the door.

“Who the hell—Dick!”

I give her a bloody smile and fall into her arms.


	6. Chapter 6

“I told you to drop it,” Barbara says.

I’ve got a pack of frozen peas to my eye while she’s finishing up bandaging the worst parts of me. I hurt like hell. I shoot her a glare with my good eye.

“Yeah, yeah. You should’ve seen the other guys.”

“Plural?”

I shrug, then wince. Moving hurts.

Barbara pulls the pack away from my eye and gives my face the once-over. “Well, the swelling should go down. You’re lucky they didn’t ruin that pretty face of yours.”

“My life would’ve been over,” I say, readjusting the frozen bag.

“It almost was,” she says pointedly.

“I don’t think she wanted them to kill me, just rough me around a little. Get her point across.”

“What’s her point?”

“This is between her and her ex,” I say.

“Dick,” Barbara begins, and I know with that tone, I’m not gonna like what I hear. “Are you sure you want to be on this case?”

“On it? I’m in it!”

She sighs and stands up, moving around her apartment. “This family is worse than anyone you’ve faced before. They run a killer training camp. Nobody was this bad in ‘Haven.”

“You never met Blockbuster,” I mutter.

“Dick. Get out while you still can.”

“You know, being the second person to tell me that isn’t helping your case.”

She shakes her head, her red bob bouncing around her ears. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Dick.”

“So do I, Babs,” I say as she heads to the kitchen for more ice. “So do I.”


	7. Chapter 7

After the worst of the swelling has gone down, I head back to Wayne Manor, still looking somewhat worse for the wear, but at least I’m not still actively bleeding. Alfred doesn’t seem shocked to see me in this state, but maybe he’s just better at hiding his expressions than most people. Bruce, on the other hand, when I’m finally taken to a parlor to meet him, looks horrified.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

“I met your ex-wife,” I say. “And the goons she travels with.”

Bruce sits me down and calls to Alfred to bring something to drink and something for my eye. I don’t bother to tell him there’s not much more to do for it; it’s nice having him care for me. This time, when Alfred brings back the drinks and pack of ice, Bruce sits beside me on the sofa. I can feel the heat of him through his suit, and I start yearning for that kiss we shared before all this went down.

“I never thought she’d do this,” Bruce says. “What the hell kind of game is she playing?” He sounds bitter, more than he has before.

“She’s your ex” is a sentence that almost leaves my mouth, but for once I’m smart enough to keep it shut. What I do say is, “A dangerous enough one for me.”

Bruce looks chastised and that’s not how I want him to be. But maybe I can work it to my advantage.

“I didn’t come here so you could see what she’d done to me,” I start. “I came here to get some straight answers from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“About Ra’s. About Talia. About what they do.” I switch tactics for a moment. “She said it was time for your son to meet you. That, quote, ‘a boy cannot be fatherless forever’. Why do you think now is the time?”

Bruce looks away from me, that middle-distance stare that I’m starting to dislike. He’s making up a story for me, but I’m getting sick of fairy tales.

“Don’t lie to me, Bruce,” I say. Maybe he doesn’t owe me anything, but I didn’t get beat up for nothing. I want the truth, and I’m not really feeling like dying for it just yet.

“There’s… something I have to tell you,” he says.

I stay quiet. People find it easier to confess things when they’re not interrupted. He stands and motions for me to follow. I leave the ice bag on the tray Alfred left us, careful to not let it melt on the table that’s probably worth more than I am. Bruce leads me to the study I first saw him in and over to the old grandfather clock that stands against a wall.

“What I’m about to show you, almost nobody knows about,” Bruce says. “Talia knows about it, because I was less cautious when I was younger. I thought we would be together forever. I was obviously wrong.”

He turns the hands of the clock and the whole thing swings away from the wall, revealing a dark set of stairs.

“How long have you been in Gotham, Dick?” he asks, as we descend.

“About a year.”

“Then maybe you haven’t heard,” Bruce says. “You know how Metropolis has Superman. Central City has the Flash. Gotham has me.”

Bright lights come on as we finally reached the ground, blinding me for a couple of seconds. By the time I realize where we are—a cave below the mansion—Bruce has walked away from me to some sort of tall cabinet. He opens it and my breath catches in my throat.

“You’re Batman.”

I meant it to be a question, but it doesn’t come out that way. How can it? The proof is staring me right in the face.

I’ve only heard of Batman third-hand. Commissioner Gordon begrudgingly works with him, Barbara’s more on the fence about him. I’ve never seen him, never paid much attention to him, really. When you’ve got a man who can fly, a guy in a bat suit doesn’t sound that inspiring. But I never would have suspected Bruce Wayne of all people.

“And this is why Talia’s bringing your son back?” I ask, still unsure exactly what this all means.

“I was his age when my parents died,” Bruce says. “She must see the symbolism in that.”

I wish I did. “So, Talia’s known about this the whole time,” I say, trying to catch up to speed. A question hits me. “Why did you two really divorce?”

“I told you. I couldn’t agree with her father, and she wouldn’t choose me.”

“Explain it to me like I’m five.”

“Ra’s al Ghul is more than what you’ve heard,” Bruce says. “I did lie to you before. His League of Assassins. I thought I could infiltrate them. That’s how I met Talia.”

“So, not only is there a killer camp, but you trained there.” I look away from him, trying to find some other place to stare at, but my gaze can’t settle. “Anything else you’d like to tell me before I find myself getting murdered in my sleep?”

“If Talia had wanted you dead, you would be,” Bruce says solemnly. “She did this to you as a warning. A message to me.”

“You know what? You can leave me out of your little love spat,” I say. I’m painfully aware of how my voice echoes in the cave, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “You said, ‘find my missing child’. I said, ‘sure, no problem, that’s a cinch’. I didn’t know I was getting into superheroes and assassins.”

Bruce frowns. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought a stranger into this. If you want to get out, I’ll—”

“There’s nowhere to get out to, Bruce,” I shout. “It’s a little bit late for that, don’t you think?”

Bruce opens his mouth to say something else, but he never gets the chance.

“Beloved,” comes a voice from the darkness. “It’s time for you to meet your son.”


	8. Chapter 8

I’m not one for being dramatic, or poetic, but let me try and describe the scene as it happened.

Talia interrupted my shouting match with Bruce. OK. But she comes out of the shadows in a damn *gown* like some kind of specter. Then there’s this… I barely know how to describe it. This shadow that moves with her, and it’s only once the light hits just right that I realize it’s not one massive shadow, that it’s actually dozens of dark-clad assassins behind her.

I take one step back and closer to Bruce, because I’ll be damned if I’m staying in the middle of this. Bruce looks calm, as if he’s prepared for all of this, and I wonder, wildly, if this is what their marriage was like. “Do you take this woman and her one hundred ninjas to be… etc.”?

“Beloved,” Talia says, smiling as if they don’t have a divorce and daddy issues between them. “It’s so wonderful to see you again. You look well.”

“Talia,” Bruce says, his mouth a hard line. There’s a light in his eyes that tells me he did love her once, and it’s still fighting to come out. It’s almost sad, or at least, I think it is, when my brain can think of anything besides “What the hell is happening?” over and over.

“I’m surprised,” she says. “I was expecting you to be in your suit. No matter. It’s best for your son to meet you without masks.”

The shadow assassins part and a young boy walks out from between them. He passes his mother and walks almost directly up to Bruce.

“Father,” he says, staring up at him. He frowns. “I expected you to be taller.”

Laughter rings out in the cave and it’s not until all eyes are turned in my direction that I realize it’s coming from me.

“I’m sorry,” I say between laughs. “I just… This is a joke, right? All this? I mean, you come in here with a League of Assassins and a ten year old kid who’s all of, what?, four-foot-five? And you’re the goddamn Batman. It’s just too much, you know?”

“Pull yourself together, Dick,” Bruce says, hurriedly.

I put a hand over my mouth to try and stop myself and then a little voice pops up in my mind going “Why should I?”

“No,” I say, drawing their attention again. “You can’t pretend this is normal. Like any of this is normal.”

“You should have quit when I offered you the chance, Dick Grayson,” Talia says. The ninja shadow moves behind her, rippling.

“Leave him out of this, Talia,” Bruce says, his voice echoing throughout the cave. “This is between us.”

“You brought him into this.”

“You know what?” I begin. “I’m going back upstairs. You two fight this out yourselves.” I turn my back to them, which proves me either very brave or very stupid. “Come on, kid.”

“Stay here, Damian,” Talia says at the same time Bruce says, “Go up, son.”

I glance back to see the poor kid looking between his parents, looking like a little lost dog. I don’t know about him, but I can’t take it anymore. I stomp back down the stairs and grab the kid by the arm. “Come on. You shouldn’t see this.”

“Unhand my son!” Talia says. The assassins move a step closer.

Bruce puts a hand on my shoulder. “This is my house, Talia. He’s safe here.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Talia, but tilts his head toward me. “Take Damian upstairs. Talia and I need to talk.”

I don’t need to be told twice, even if it was my idea. Damian comes with me, though I can feel his reluctance. We make it all the way upstairs before he yanks his arm from my grasp.

“And who are you?” he asks, with an imperious sort of tone.

“Dick Grayson,” I say. “I’m the private investigator your dad hired to find you.”

“You didn’t do a very good job,” Damian says. “Who beat you up?”

“Your mom’s guys did that,” I say. “And I was working on it, but your mom had other plans.”

“Mother is very direct,” he says.

Alfred walks in on us and for a moment there’s actually an emotion on his face. “You must be the master’s son,” he says, bowing slightly. “I’m Alfred Pennyworth, your father’s butler.”

Damian raises his chin, not just because Alfred’s tall. “We need drinks, Pennyworth. Bring something for Grayson. I’ll have coffee.”

Alfred arches an eyebrow, but just says, “As you wish.” He shoots me a look before he leaves and I bite back a smile. This kid’s too much.

I fall into an armchair and stretch out long. I’m about ready to fall asleep. I haven’t gotten much in the last couple days and it’s starting to wear on me. “Sit down, kid.”

Damian just stares at me. “Are you someone important to Father?”

“I wish, kid,” I say. “Why?”

“Father did what you told him to. That’s not like him.”

“And how would you know what your dad is like?”

“I—” Damian pauses. “Mother has told me all about him.”

Bruce comes up the stairs. “Damian, come say goodbye to your mother.”

Damian whirls around. “We’re not staying?”

“You are,” Bruce says. “Come on.”

Damian looks like the kid he is and my heart breaks for him. It’s bad enough having to choose between your parents, but not getting that choice is rougher.

Alfred comes in as father and son head down to the cave. Alfred hands me the coffee and sets down a glass of milk. “I take it young Damian will be staying with us.”

“Looks like it,” I say, drinking my coffee straight black. It tastes fine, just like black coffee, which is not how I typically take it, but I need all the help I can get right now.

“And you?”

I look up at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He raises one eyebrow and I drop my gaze back to my cup. “I don’t know. I think I just got fired tonight.”

“I doubt that, sir.”

Bruce returns with Damian who, for his credit isn’t crying, but looks somewhat miserable. I feel for the kid.

“Alfred, show Damian to his room,” Bruce says. “I have something to discuss with Mr. Grayson.”

Oh, so it’s “Mr. Grayson” now, is it? Well, then.

Alfred does that little half bow and leads Damian away. I just catch before the door closes, “Pennyworth, milk is not coffee.” I fight back a grin.

Bruce walks around his desk and sits down, making me turn my chair to face him. He looks tired. I can’t blame him, really.

“Dick,” he says, and now I’m really not sure what footing I’m on. “I have a confession to make.”

I stay quiet and he continues.

“I didn’t come to you just because I needed your help.” He looks very uncomfortable and I wonder whether he’s planned any of this speech out. “I’ve been lonely a very long time. A friend of mine suggested meeting you. I didn’t know how to go about that without a case for you.”

My mind is spinning, but uncomfortably blank. I have an inkling where he’s going with this, but I don’t know how I feel about it.

“I don’t want to make you upset,” Bruce says. “I just….”

“Who recommended me?” I ask.

“Selina Kyle.”

I knew it. She knows I have a thing for dangerous older men, damn her.

We sit in silence for a minute, neither of us really sure what to say. I break the ice.

“By the way, I’m doubling your fee.”

Bruce looks confused for a moment, and then starts to laugh. It’s a nice sound. He should do it more often.

When he stops laughing, he smiles at me and it’s a nice smile, much better than the one I first saw in my office.

“Bruce,” I say. “What do you want?”

He stands and comes around the desk, sitting on it in front of me. He takes my collar and carefully pulls me up to him and into a kiss. It’s different from our first kiss. This is more intimate, more… mind-blowing.

He pulls away. “I don’t know what I want, Dick. This is a new chapter in my life. But I’d like you to be in it.”

“Yeah, well, I guess you could keep me on retainer.”

“Your fee?”

I stand up and lay my arms over his shoulders. “A few more kisses is a good start.”

Bruce kisses me again, holding me close. And this time I think, maybe Gotham isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
